lilac;

Shoko, on the other hand, tried to hold herself together. She met his eyes in a false panic, looking just distressed enough to fool him; her eyes were wide, and she forced her breathing to be erratic, but beneath that, she was plotting. Behind her back, her hands were almost free, and the bindings were almost loose. All she needed to do now was to keep her mouth shut for a bit longer and wait for the right moment, determined to outlive the fate he had for her.

Choso tried again to ask her for a final say, just because he felt it was the right thing to do, despite the situation he was forcing her to be in. “Anything you want to pass onto her?” he asked, meaning you.

However, Shoko shook her head, managing a weak, orchestrated, “No,” hoping that her resignation sounded real enough to convince him.

Choso nodded slowly at that, seemingly satisfied, thinking that he was successful in this way, because he had shut down someone who tried to intervene with his plans. He ended up not pressing her on the matter any further, thinking that it was a punishment enough for her to be in this situation at all.

Shoko let out a slow breath of air as she watched him begin to walk away, exhausted for many reasons, but keen on escaping whatever sort of mess she had gotten herself in—with you, of course. It was insulting in a way, after all, that this man had any claim towards your life, approaching you and everything else in your life in a way that felt invasive. If you had gotten a boyfriend of your own accord—fine—she would have grilled them lightly just to see if they were a good fit or not, but this was different. This was a nosy neighbour who became infatuated with you and dared to believe that he had a right to you.

Aside from that, she noticed something written on his face that she might just be able to save you, if exploited:

If his fixation on you made him reckless, then escape wasn’t completely out of the question just yet.

~~~

In the meantime, you lay in the cold airy interior of the van in disbelieving silence, still trying—and failing—to process the thought of how quickly it all went wrong—again. Just one moment ago, you had actually managed to break free, and at the next second, you were shoved back into this dreary place again as if nothing had changed at all. Even worse yet, Shoko had been dragged into this whole mess, and Choso seemed horribly serious about making her disappear.

Also, God. Your head was throbbing as the residual weakness from earlier hadn’t subsided at all, but bloomed into a persistent ache. In addition to that, the panic persisted. It was so bad that it made it difficult to breathe in full amounts, making you feel lightheaded with each inhale. A realisation pushed through as you tried to get yourself together, coming to understand that if this was his attempt at pushing you closer to him, you hated Choso for putting you in this position at all. In fact, if his end goal was to keep you hidden and his, then you rejected that notion completely. You would never feel anything for him in the way he wanted.

Though you knew he would try, you forced yourself to move.

Your wrists were still bound, but the ropes were loosening up a little. Likely when he was stuffing you both into the van and driving away—likely very quickly—he had to do so in a hurry. You could feel your flesh under the bindings be rubbed raw, but you could ignore the pain if it had meant an out. The van doors, also, were not properly fixed and you could tell: merely just forced back into place, but given how they groaned against the breeze outside, you stood a chance to break them upon. Indeed—you tried again, and again, stretching the restraints on your wrists until your arms were free, scrambling forward with a shaky hand to pull the tape from your face; to untie your legs, before working at the doors with all that you had—Once. Twice. Then once more again, until finally, they gave out with a sharp jolt.

Though, rather than run out blindly into the night, you dropped down to hide just under the vehicle, tucking yourself into the coarse sand. Partially, you had done so to steady yourself, but also because you did not dare risk colliding with him by accident. You didn’t want to waste the chance that you felt was already wasted once before, and more than anything else, you owed it to Shoko to get her out of this nightmare.

Goodness. You wanted freedom so badly. That was the part that was eating away at you now; that made you so open to all of those bad ideas from before. You should have quietly sat in his apartment and waited for him to slip off elsewhere, then attempted to escape then. Now, you were far from home and isolated by the sea. It just felt like the fault was yours, even if that wasn’t the case at all. None of what happened was because of you, and yet, the feeling stubbornly persisted.

Though, just as quickly as you were out, you had to stifle your thoughts soon after, because Choso came stomping back over the sand, only to slow the moment he likely saw the doors fluttering against the van. You held your breath and kept yourself still beneath it, hoping that both the crashing waves and coastal winds could drown out your gasping panic.

From where you were hidden otherwise, you could only make out his shoes shifting around in the dark, barely illuminated by the moonlight whenever it had filtered through the clouds. Then came a rough grunt of frustration, likely over the fact that you were nowhere to be found. You almost found yourself feeling sorry over how desperate he sounded—almost—if not for the hellish situation he was keen on putting you through. You stayed as quiet as possible throughout his outburst, only exhaling at long last when he rounded the van, and tucked himself away into the driver’s seat, slamming the door on impact.

Then, soon after, the engine came to life. The sound was so sudden that it made you flinch, locking you into position as he slowly rolled away. You wanted to move, but another part of you remained frozen, praying that he hadn’t seen you from the illumination of the rear lights, from the moon, from whatever else could have given you away, but soon enough it was just you alone flat against the dark. After a few more seconds, you forced yourself to thaw and move, scrambling against the sand and towards the sound of the crashing waves up ahead.

When you did get there, though, it was impossible to tell where on earth she must have been, because especially at night, the water was especially dark; inky black even beneath the moonlit glow whenever it passed. The waves were just as disorienting too; loudly crashing against each other like harsh static, making you feel nauseous yet again. Both from being seemingly alone in the dark where your best friend was potentially drowning, or worse yet, already dead, but also with the knowledge that your captor was out there, actively searching for you. To make matters worse, you could sort of hear the van coming back around, slowly away in the distance, as if Choso was taking his good sweet time to spot you.

Then, you heard footsteps shuffle along the sandy surface, jolting out of your own skin, thinking that somehow it must have been him, even if that much were impossible. When you turned around to face the sound, you were met with Shoko, who was wet and shaking, visibly exhausted, but ultimately free.

“Oh good, you’re also out,” she stated, her relief evident despite her trembling voice. She was trying so hard to keep it steady, but between the cold clinging to her still damp skin and the deeper unease of someone having tried to kill her, it was difficult to keep things together at all.

For a second, it looked as if she might have reached for you, but she stopped herself in the last second. Though, you finalised the contact anyway, stepping forward and clinging to her with all that you had. You were thankful that she was here with you, because you needed familiar company, but you were also so guilty at the same time, because she did not deserve to be.

“You’re okay?” you whispered, sounding breathless. “You’re really okay?”

“Yeah,” she forced a laugh. “I managed to get free…” she trailed off, clearly wanting to say more, but then her gaze snapped towards the direction of the van when she heard it in the distance. The reminder that Choso was still out there and looking for you filled her with a dread that she could not hide.

“So, the good news is that he probably thinks I’m dead by now,” she speculated with that dry tone of hers, trying to cope with the events. “Or… in the process of dying,” she added on a whim. “His guard might be let down if he thinks it’s just you out here, but even so, he’s dangerous. We shouldn’t think we have the advantage just because he’s thrown off.”

You swallowed hard as the reality of her words hit you. “So what exactly do we do?”

Shoko took a deep, steadying breath.

“I think we have two options here,” she began, starting to flinch at every sound just in case he had somehow caught up, despite the van still rumbling away in the distance, “we can try to knock him out and take the van, or we can try to stealthily avoid him and escape that way.”

You drew in a deep breath as you glanced around the dark, on occasion the moon would highlight the vast coastline, but that was the issue: it was endless. At the same time, her other plan was terrifying too, because so much risked going wrong.

“I’m not sure about either,” you admitted, “we look like we’re somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and I also don’t think we’re in the right state of mind to gang up on him.”

“He’s just as out of it as we are,” Shoko was quick to insist. “I could tell. He was starting to lose it a little, so if he can’t see you, and if he thinks I’m gone, then he’s going to start making mistakes.”

As if on cue, the van closed in again, but when the engine died down, a sudden horn blared a few times on repeat. You imagined him hitting the wheel out of frustration, which somehow unsettled you, considering that despite his actions, he seemed quiet to you.

Shoko flinched at the sound but managed to fix you with a weak smile. “See?” she pointed out. “He’s just as on edge too. I think no matter what we choose, we might just get away with it.”

You gulped heavily as you considered her words, knowing you had to make a choice soon.

“Well, I suppose we can try to…” you started, your words trailing off as you thought of the better decision to make, “to…”

When this feeling settled, so did your body; sinking far enough to hit something solid, even if there were no defining borders. Up ahead, or where you presumed to be above, you could make out a rippling surface, pale lights and distorted moving shapes and shadows. When you emerged, it made even less sense, with blurring wisps that barely retained any such form. The only thing you could recognise, even barely, was yourself, or who you remembered being, looking limp and lifeless as featureless bodies made of blinding light gathered all around you. The speech that bled from them was indistinguishable, and you could not understand what they might have been saying, but given the tone, given the urgency, it must have been critical.

Maybe you were watching yourself be dead, or be comatose, or whatever else it must have been. Maybe that’s what death had meant at all; that you would be plunged into nothingness, observing your existence from the sidelines like a passenger to your own demise, but no, that did not feel right either. Perhaps you were just unable to let go—unable to accept what had happened as the reality to move on from.

Did you really have to haunt yourself?

Did you really have to look at yourself as you—

Realising your death shook you out of the thought as quickly as the concept arose, bringing you out of your dream—or memory—or observation, bringing you to wake with a sharp, startled gasp. When you then opened your eyes, you were met with a room that looked strikingly real in contrast to the inky void you were otherwise in. It was vibrantly real. You were lying in a low bed over neatly arranged bedding; the air you breathed in was thick and smelled sweet.

Above all that, you felt watched. A bit too intently.

When your eyes regained focus, you could understand why.

Kenjaku—the maybe not cosplayer; the maybe real deal—was standing by the doorframe, watching you from a measured distance. His eyes were as dark as coal, devoid of anything that resembled warmth.

“Finally awake,” he observed, his voice smooth, though mild.

He studied your face that you were even present at all, because wakefulness did not always come with awareness, and beyond that, he still hardly understood the point of your existence—let alone the limitations of it. For that reason, he chose to be careful and kept a good few steps away from you, his expression fixed into something neutral.

Somewhere, just outside, you could make out a light whimpering sound, but it was a bit muffled.

Was there someone else here?

Whether or not there was, you could only really focus on one thing at a time, so you didn’t answer him immediately, even if your mind was swarming with questions. Somehow, now that you were awake with him a second time, the reality, as bizarre as it was, felt easier to accept, even if fear did fill you. After all, you knew that deeper down, even if you could hang out with your type in any canonical world or sense of being, you should not trust most of them. You were left momentarily wondering if you were lucky that you had landed in a world like Jujutsu Kaisen, for at least it was still Earth as you knew it, just with a few differing variables here and there.

This, however, led you down the mental rabbit hole to consider other universes. Did that mean that there were other fictional worlds made real to those unable to let go of their consciousness—or whatever on earth had happened to you? Did that mean that worlds like Attack on Titan existed, and you had narrowly avoided that fate? Did it depend on what you were focused on at the time of death? Did it matter if it was your current hyperfixation, or what? You thought about other places, like the lethal floral landscape of Hell’s Paradise, whatever on earth Naruto had going on—

In a way, you were suddenly resentful at yourself again, wishing for something simpler, just because. If reincarnation into fictional universes was a possible fate, then you longed for something quieter like Stardew Valley, where you could avoid a lot of the danger if you lived the quiet route. Though maybe you would have wished for something interesting after a while. Then again, maybe true peace didn’t exist at all: there was a lot left unsaid that authors, developers, and the like had never disclosed, so perhaps the unseen layers of presumed history—of politics—of all sorts of nuances—were still present in the cosier universes, too.

So, in the end, this was all fine. Maybe. Hopefully?

As your mind grappled back and forth with your situation, however, Kenjaku grew just a touch impatient over the lack of a response. He leaned back slightly, the frame creaking under his back, exhaling a quiet breath of annoyance. His eyes narrowed at the sight of your eyes glazing over, wondering if your brain had turned to mush and if he should not have let you sleep for so long.

Perhaps you needed to be grounded, then. Reminded that you have a voice here; that there are thoughts and opinions and complaints to be had.

He started simple.

“You seemed to have trouble sleeping,” he pointed out, retaining his deceptively kind tone. “Were you having a nightmare?”

Your eyes snapped to his, forcing yourself to focus on the present rather than to wonder on and off about the possibilities of other worlds. If you were here, then sure, so be it. There were plenty of other times to have an existential, reincarnation-oriented crisis, and this was not one of them. Though, when you tried to speak, like before, your unfamiliar voice caught you off guard and any response you had in mind had died in your throat.

Kenjaku noticed your failure to respond, even if you had meant to, but didn’t push you just yet. If you were adjusting, then that meant you had also, at the very least, acknowledged his question and therefore were capable of thinking for yourself. He took in how your eyes drifted around the room, noting as much as he could. Your body language was something he found peculiar, because when you were passed out, you seemed almost comfortable with him. Then, when you woke up and registered his company, you grew stiffer, less welcoming of him despite your so-called confession earlier of being an apparent fan.

“Y-yes,” you finally managed at long last, though your voice came out as somewhat choppy from not being too used to the way you sounded just yet. “I… I think it was a nightmare, anyway. It felt way too real.”

Kenjaku’s mouth curled ever so faintly, his curiosity piqued, but only just.

“Was it a vivid dream?” he asked, gently steering the conversation. “Or perhaps did it feel like something else? A memory?”

You hesitated, but did not answer that time as you tried to think about what you had experienced at all. You didn’t know yourself what it could have been, and that frustrated you, though, as well as him, because he had to be so careful around you. Were you anyone else, he might have already moved on to the next curiosity, but if you knew more about the world he lived in than he did, then you were valuable.

Your eyes scrolled around the room again and again, trying to understand where you were and what this was. Briefly, you considered the idea that this was a dream as well, but like the reluctant observation you had the first time, the pacing was much too slow. You could smell and feel and breathe all from one angle without being cast into a suddenly different scene. In addition to that, you didn’t experience other dreamy factors, such as lost time.

“Where is this…?” You asked yourself, not him, but he answered you anyway.

He pushed himself off the doorway and took a step closer right before doing so, further logging how your body tensed as he approached. His expression remained composed and neutral, but he was far from cautious, unable to help but feel curious about this whole situation. You could tell from the way he was carrying himself that he was holding himself back, both physically, as to perhaps not outright restrain you, but verbally, too, as not to scare you so soon.

“Somewhere safe,” he said so simply, glancing at you once, before determining it felt right enough to move forward. “Tell me more about that dream,” he circled back, not quite requesting an explanation as much as trying to find an angle over how exactly he could proceed to exploit you. Depending on how you answered, he had a few ideas up his sleeve, but they had to be exercised correctly. If you were too erratic in your answers, he would have to express containment. If you were too docile, then he would obtain information from you through a third party, since he had no interest in overseeing someone dull. If you were somewhere in-between, then—

Maybe, no such pain would have to surface. Hurting others to get what he wanted was always just the crasser, easier route, because oftentimes people were not so ready to give him what he wanted; that much was readily understood. If, however, he could wait for you to soften, then he could build up your trust and see where it would take him. All he wanted from you really was simple, almost absurdly so. He wanted you to run your mouth, once at a time, whenever he deemed it important in order to help him make the right decision at the right time.

“I don’t know,” you said slowly, gulping thickly. “I was in a void—a bit like… space? But without any stars around me, and I was watching myself die, or be dead. Maybe I was being saved? I’m not sure.”

Kenjaku’s expression sharpened with interest right away. He knew of the place you might have been describing; the rift between dreams, death, and life altogether. It existed as a dark, monochromatic threshold between all three states, yet none at all, and was the kind of liminal space that he longed to understand so deeply. He knew enough about it to be aware of it, but a lot of what was within it remained a mystery. He wanted to know more about your time there, and whether or not he could at some point suspend you between two points, but that was a thought exercise for another time, another day, if you were willing to cooperate with him at all.

Then, as he lost himself to his train of thought, he seemed less interested in the fact that you were here with him, and more so in how your existence was possible at all. At the same time, he felt slightly offended since you had arrived, because the idea of your origins being from something you described as ‘reality’ did not sit right with him, given that his reality had always been where he was now. The nuances between fiction, reality, information, and souls all felt like loose ends, and he wanted nothing more than to dive into those topics deeper.

He voiced a suspicion to you, tilting his head ever so slightly. “It sounds like your soul might be trapped between two worlds. The one you came from and the one where you are now.”

You blinked at him, not discounting the idea, but struggling to understand it.

“Are… Are souls even real?” you found yourself asking.

He blinked at you as a small curve touched his mouth.

“Oh yes, he confirmed, his voice boasting something arrogant and certain. “Very much so.”

“Because…” you replied immediately, “I… I don’t think they’re real where I’m from? You basically live, you die, then there’s nothing after. I just don’t get how I ended up here?”

Kenjaku gave you a quiet breath that could have been a laugh but sounded much closer to a weary sigh. He didn’t mind educating you on the rules of his universe, but there was far too much to cover, so soon. He lowered himself to the foot of the bed, coming to rest one arm on his knee, settling his chin over the palm of his hand.

“Well, it hardly matters what exists in your world considering you’re no longer in it,” he tried to direct, gently, but not without that condescending lilt that he could never hide. “What matters more, or at least to me, is what you brought with you.”

He studied your face more intently, his eyes fixed on you in a way that felt alert and almost clinical.

“Would you like to tell me more about what you know of my world?” he asked, hoping to learn more from you, sitting like he expected you to disclose the gist of it like he was owed it.

What he did not consider, however, was your scepticism surrounding the matter. This world was one you knew of, and therefore could not dismiss the idea that he was preparing to manipulate you from the start, to try and force you, maybe frighten you into telling him what he desired to know because he would convince you that much was the safest route to take. You simply knew better. You weren’t even a background character for this world and were an intrusion at best; you had no plot armour, and even if you would become important enough for the plot to consider your existence, then this world was cruel. You remembered reading the manga all the way to the end, and feeling empty by the end of it, even if the conclusion was rather tame. So many interesting characters were lost.

You tried to look at him again, but now you understood what that gaze, exactly, had meant. Now, you wanted to disappear—sink away into the mattress—just to escape the weight of his stare. It was odd, though, because before, you quite liked the unease of the character, that calculating, very much manipulative, sometimes charismatic—when he wanted to be—expression, but when it was directed at you, it made you feel ill. Nauseous, to an extent. No longer was he a comfort, let alone something you could escape because there was a clear line of what was fictional versus what was real, but a genuine fear because of what you understood was his capability.

Therefore, giving him what he wanted so soon would be a mistake.

At least so soon. You knew well enough that he couldn’t just harvest you for a vessel, because right now, occupying Geto’s body was of far greater importance. He needed to orchestrate the Culling Games, and to do that, he needed to have Cursed Spirit Manipulation if he were going to absorb Mahito, which was needed for the arc alone. Even so, you were starting to doubt your usefulness to him, at least somewhat. It had been years since you completed the manga, and the animated seasons were already fleeting. Perhaps if he were to steal your body, or to torture it out of you, then you might fold. Escaping, also, couldn’t be an option to consider. Even if you did manage to shove your way past him, he still possessed Kaori’s old technique, and gravity was not something to joke about. In addition to that, Geto's body was simply strong, and you weren’t sure if the one you were occupying—the one the universe thrust upon you—could do anything against that at all.

You ended up offering him a weak smile; the corners of your lips twitching around the edges.

“I’ll tell you what you want, but I have… conditions,” you started carefully, the nervousness in your voice betraying the demand in your words. “Only if you won’t kill me either. Or hurt me during my time here. Or… let anything else get to me either.”

Kenjaku blinked at your list of requirements and masked his annoyance with that same smile he always made. He leaned back and looked at you differently then, as though he understood you perfectly just then. He should have known it, actually, that you were aware of what he was—of who he was—so you might not respond so well to his feigned politeness, to soft words, maybe not even soft touches. Even if he were to act like your favourite character truly, and even slip into bed with you—he wondered if you would fold at all, or if you would just grow all the more cautious from his efforts.

He studied you in complete silence for a moment longer, his eyes moving over you as he considered his next move. He observed that you were young, yes, but the sharpness of youth could never be dismissed outright. You carried yourself with far too little hierarchy and spoke to him casually, so perhaps in your home world, you were from elsewhere. Then again, the audacity of youth overall these days suggested that much didn’t matter, even here. If he had to guess, he could place you somewhere in your twenties—maybe older, but he could not be too sure. He had long been alive to understand that people look more or less the same until old age creeps up on them, and even so, a millennia of life had started to make him see even those close to a century on their deathbeds as very, very young.

Still, you had that adult scepticism to you. You were not some naive child who could be told what to do—or else.

“Certainly,” he said at last, though the delivery of the word was a bit too smooth. It wasn’t as if he meant to be immediately sly with it, but he already moved on to the idea that the two of you would reach an agreement, because it looked as if you were reaching for something mutually beneficial. He could work with that as long as you kept up your side of the promise, and that way, he didn’t have to do anything too harmful or too extreme just yet.

“I’ll help you if you help me,” he added.

You regarded him for a moment, pushing yourself up the bed again, clearly not trusting his intent. You weren’t sure if he even meant to look so suspicious; maybe it was just the image you had of him in your mind that painted him in such a light, but you knew better than to believe his words.

“Are… Are you sure that you’re capable of helping anyone at all?” you asked on a whim, the thought slipping out of your mind out loud. “You’re not going to just say you’ll help me, then screw me over, right?”

Kenjaku blinked at you with that same composed expression. “You’re asking for protection, yes?” he replied to you. “What I’m asking for is compliance. I believe that we can benefit each other this way.”

“But—” you tried to interject.

He continued anyway. “Yes, yes, I understand that you might be cautious about telling me everything at once, so how about this?” he leaned forward, dismissing your concerns right off the bat but also quick to affirm to you that he was capable of listening. “I don’t want you to dispense all of the information at once. That doesn’t help me in the slightest. In phases, perhaps. When I ask for it, more likely. I’ll need you alive then, so you won’t be harmed, because what use do I have for someone who’s too much of a mess to speak?”

“And you’ll… trust me, just like that?” you asked, caught off guard by his bluntness, but you supposed that if he didn’t have to hide his intentions or who he was from you because he assumed—rightfully so—that you could see through him, then that made enough sense.

A breath of a scoff left his nose. “Of course, unless you give me any reason not to,” he replied, maintaining that decisive tone. “Besides, it’s not like you have much of a choice.”

There it was. You knew that even now, he couldn’t be too blunt; he just had to slip in something to make you feel off centre. You knew his character so well. Too well.

“You must understand the situation you’re in, right?” he asked, before continuing without waiting for your answer. “I can help you stay safe away from the prying eyes of Jujutsu society, where they’ll almost certainly turn their attention towards you and execute you without as much as hearing you out. They hate anomalies, just so that you are aware—to them, the world is about maintaining a specific order, and certainly not entertaining the walking embodiment of spoilers.”

You swallowed, but felt it was right to quickly correct him. “Not exactly true,” you blurted out.

“Oh?” he caught.

“Well, after Yuji ate one of Sukuna’s fingers and was awoken as a vessel for him,” you said, curling your fingers into the sheets as you spoke, realising a second too late that you were already sharing what you knew, even if it was considered surface level knowledge, “he was spared of the death penalty, despite the danger he posed to the world.”

Kenaku smiled again, but his expression felt colder than before.

“Because…?” he went on, encouraging you to finish that reason.

You gulped. “Well, technically because he had someone like Gojo to vouch for him, but still…”

“Do you think that Satoru Gojo would hear you out and protect you?” he asked, his tone turning almost mocking. “How quaint.”

You swallowed again. “Well, he’s a good guy. Or that’s how he’s written to be. I think if I did encounter him and asked him to at least hear me out, he might technically put in a good word for me…”

Kenjaku’s mouth pursed at that, as if displeased. “Tell me more about him. Is he a major… character?” he requested, his expression souring when he had to admit that Satoru Gojo was nothing more than a character to you. He found it novel, certainly, but he didn’t appreciate the idea that everything he knew or could be was reduced to a mere story. He hated that, even. To confine his existence to a predetermined fate seemed cruel considering how much he favoured exploring endless possibilities.

You shrugged. “Not exactly. The main character is still Yuji. Gojo was—is—” you corrected yourself right away, remembering that if you were to dispense spoilers at all, you still had to have the upper hand in all instances. “He’s his teacher,” you continued, “but he’s popular because I guess, well, he’s hot, and he’s funny, and just seems like a good person.”

A certain curiosity gripped him. “And me?” he asked, almost beaming with arrogance.

Only for you to strike him down.

You glanced at the ceiling, then back at him. “I think you’re actually one of the most hated characters, actually, right after Mahito. I guess people aren’t too forgiving over the fact you took over and exploited Geto’s body,” you explained, leaving out the part that truly sold the hatred for most; during the Shibuya incident, when he had used Geto’s voice specifically to trick Gojo. That might have been too much of a spoiler to let on, considering it was pretty major.

Kenjaku nodded, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “I see. Interesting that the… story,” he said again, smacking his lips together as if to get rid of the off-putting taste that words like ‘story’ and ‘character’ kept leaving in his mouth, “followed along what Mahito was up to. What becomes of him anyway?”

You kept quiet at that, not wanting to reveal too much too soon.

“I want more security on the promise you made before I reveal too much,” you said.

He tilted his head. “I didn’t make any promises. I only said that I was capable of offering you safety,” but then after a measured pause, he added, “if you’re cautious of me, which you’re right to be,” he added with a laugh, “then perhaps we can shape this arrangement into something that feels less one-sided.”

You gulped before taking the bait. “How?”

He looked at you as though he recalculated his stance. It was clear that you knew things which were useful enough to matter, and you could understand him well enough to know that it would be unwise to cooperate with him so easily. He respected that, almost. If you were being difficult out of self-preservation, then there was something admirable about that.

“What if we give something of equal value to each other, when I need information from you?” he suggested. “If I give you something in return.”

You searched his face for answers. “Such as?”

“I could take you on as an apprentice of sorts,” he shrugged, brainstorming on the spot. “I could teach you to fight—to defend yourself—maybe, if you’re capable of harnessing cursed energy, I can teach you to manipulate the world around you, and if not, then I’ll find a way to make it possible.”

But then he went still as a thought surfaced, because there had to be more to you fainting and retreating to a dream. After all, that certainly was the rift he was thinking of before, wasn’t it? If the line between your waking self and the state of a fleeting consciousness was thin enough, then the promise might not even hold at all. He might be investing in nothing.

Then again, he speculated, maybe your soul was just confused between point A and point B. Maybe, if he grounded enough of a presence into you here, by building a life based on proximity and experience, if you remained here long enough, then your soul might settle here instead. It didn’t have to be confused about where to go or not.

“What do you say?” he asked after many seconds had passed.

You drew in a heavy breath as you sat with the question, genuinely considering his offer.

A part of you welcomed it, finding the prospect exciting. You had always wanted to experience a more exciting life, and especially one with powers. Whenever you found yourself watching fantasy, you always thought you would not find it a chore to learn about magic or powers or whatever else, but just like Kenjaku, a certain thought ate away at you.

If the dreams you had were of the old you—if they had the answers over why it had to end—then would you forget all of that eventually?

Would you truly die then to make room for your new life here?

What would happen to those spoilers you carried then?

For now, however, it seemed just easier to escape, just for that small measure of security. You needed that more than anything else, so you set that concern aside for now.

“Yes,” you said at last, looking him dead in the eyes to prove just how serious you were—